A Memo to Angelina Jolie About Breastfeeding.

TO: ANGIE JOLIE

RE: YOUR BREASTS

Hey again Angie. I swear I’m not stalking you. Seriously, it’s just that after I wrote you that last letter [0]responding to the whole “twins situation” I kind of thought we were on the same page about how difficult it is. But then, I find out that you posed for a big fancy magazine breast feeding your babies and looking all serene and mother-earthy. Like breast feeding twins was just the most nature thing in the whole entire world. I couldn’t help but feel it was sort of a slap in the face. Admittedly, I haven’t actually seen the pictures so maybe you were wearing nipple shields and they got air brushed out and maybe there was a Boppy involved, or frozen cabbage, at the very least some damn soothing Lanolin but I doubt it. Well, kudos to you on your success, Angie. Fine, I’m probably a bit jealous.

[1]I could tell you a whole long story about my failed yet drawn out attempt to breast feed my first daughter and how I smelled like Fenugreek for at least a year which is forty-eight weeks longer than I actually breastfed, but you don’t have time for that. Not with all that breast feeding you’re doing. But, I did quickly want to share with you that I was all cool in my decision not to even try and breast feed when I found out I was having twins. If one was hard two would be hell, right? I mean, sure, I knew I’d have to get an unlisted number so that the La Leche League couldn’t call and lecture me, or picket outside my house, but I was okay with that. But then I found out much later on that my twins would be born prematurely and all my resolve flew out the window. Those preemies, they need the breast milk. I knew I’d have to give it and them my best.

You probably don’t know this but two preemie babies plus two milk challenged boobs equals frantic pumping. Hang on, I have to go have a glass of wine just thinking about this. Okay, I’m back . Maybe you should just give me your number so I could call you…if anyone could breast feed twins and talk on the phone at the same time it would be you…anyhoo, the very day Sadie and Mattie were removed from my stomach, the nurses wheeled in this huge hospital grade pump with tubing and funnels and a motor so big it could start a car. It looked like some sort of medieval torture device. The thing sat next to my bed about three days untouched. I know I was on a lot of pain medication but I swear through the haze I heard it taunting me. But I couldn’t let it intimidate me.

When I got home from the hospital with no babies, I immediately started pumping like it was my job – everyday, all day then I’d head to the hospital with my proceeds. Even on a good day I could almost fill a Nyquil cup with what came out; and just to get that much I needed breast feeding porn. That’s where I’d look at pictures of my babies or friend’s babies while I pump. When pictures of my own babies stopped working I got desperate enough to go on preemie baby websites just to try to get my breasts stimulated enough to produce a little milk. Nothing helped; not pumping right in front of the babies (and the entire NICU), not having a big glass of dark beer, not Fenugreek, not different sized funnels, not lactation consultants, nothing. My friend Shannon even offered to give me some of her breast milk cause she was gushing like a fountain with her baby, but the NICU frowns on illicit street milk. Anyway, by the time I brought my babies home, I could maybe get a dropper full. It was useless. So I stopped. Cried a day or two, tried again and then gave up for good - although the rental breast pump stayed in my living room mocking me and accruing a balance for an extra three months because I was too busy with the twins to return it. It was like the world’s most expensive late library book.

I guess my point is that you are super lucky you’re able to breast feed those cute babies but do you have to show off about it? Aren’t you perfect enough as it is? I already feel guilty that I haven’t adopted any kids in the last ten minutes, now I’m feeling bad about being a breast feeding failure all over again. I think I liked you better when you were struggling. Honestly, those bountiful breasts of yours look like they were made for milking. And no I’m not embarrassed to say that I’ve checked out your rack. Come on, I’m not the only straight woman around who’s thought about them from time to time. Okay, a lot…maybe I am stalking you…anyway, if you ever want to grab a drink call me. On second thought, you can’t drink. Hmm…maybe I’m not so bad off after all.